


from the eye to the heart

by gloriousmonsters



Series: Earth 451 [4]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Aromantic Character, Kissing, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, weird terrible people who don't know how to have feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousmonsters/pseuds/gloriousmonsters
Summary: first kisses, or something vaguely related to that concept.





	from the eye to the heart

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in the early stages of their relationship.

“What did you dose yourself with this time?”

The world is full of wavering shapes and flat, black shadows that look as if they’re standing intentionally still, but Jervis is distinct against it all, as if he carries a little bit of his own reality with him. He leans against the doorframe with his mouth tight, worry or exasperation, still wearing the bottom half of his costume suit, and an old shirt that already bears traces of ash and grease. If Jonathan fixes his eyes on one of the black smears for too long it begins to rip open, unstitching reality, so he closes his eyes and opens them again, making himself look around the vicinity of Jervis’ face. Eye contact is a chore at the best of times and right now, it’s impossible.

He realizes that he still hasn’t replied, or really absorbed what he’d heard, and laboriously processes Jervis’ words in his mind. “Nothin’.”

This is a blatant lie. It would be obvious even if Jervis and he had not, by coming into each other’s orbits, acquired a certain ability to read each other. If Jervis told him everything was fine but was continually picking at his gloves, always finding another tiny thread to prise away, Jonathan would know it as a lie. If Jonathan had inhaled even a small amount of his concoctions, intentionally or not, Jervis could pick up on the shifts in his movement and voice. Currently, Jonathan is folded into a corner by his overflowing desk, his arms tightly crossed around his knees, because that’s what feels safest when the world is like this, so Jervis probably has a right to give him an annoyed look. But, Jonathan considers, if he could articulate it Jervis would probably understand why he had to lie, in moments like this. Admitting your weakness made it worse, made it real.

“Can I get you anything?” Jervis says, half sincere, half sarcastic. His sleeves are rolled up, so he was clearly in the middle of something, but Jonathan knows from experience that he won’t leave until he’s at least somewhat assured Jonathan is—not okay, because that’s a height that none of them can ever quite reach, but not currently about to die. Or vomit all over something vital to his research.

Jonathan considers, tries to push past the shifting of the world. The inhalation had been an impulse, impossible to resist, but he remembered making notes of stuff to potentially help with the effects. There was a card on his desk. He felt around for it and managed to bring it down, and squinted at it. “Water.” Where were his glasses?

“They’re on the desk.”

Jervis is gone when he looks up. He reappears before Jonathan has really been able to process an emotional reaction to that, so it’s only when he crouches down in front of Jonathan and is asking a question Jonathan doesn’t quite hear that the alarm of his disappearance sinks in. “Don’t leave like that,” Jonathan snaps at him.

“That’s unreasonable and you’ll know it when you’re more lucid.”

There are words in there that he would usually be able to understand. Right now it’s beyond him, and that stings. It stings harder that he even said anything, that he showed a sign of being upset.  “Fuck you.”

Jervis is occupied with the plastic bottle in his hands. He mutters something that sounds, at least to Jonathan’s fevered brain, like, “If only you would.”

“What?” Jonathan says, a few minutes too late.

“Water.” Jervis says, patiently. Jonathan isn’t sure if he likes him being patient. It’s not something he’s seen before; it’s like seeing Edward being humble. It didn’t happen for anything but extreme reasons, good or bad. “Good or bad?” Jonathan asks.

Jervis takes one of Jonathan’s hands. His own fingers feel cool, almost chilly. Jonathan’s eyes dart down to where their hands meet, catch on the twisting end of a tattoo that vanishes up Jervis’ sleeve. He wants, suddenly, to ask what it was of, if it had hurt. He feels unnerved and maudlin, repulsed and attracted all at once. He wanted to press his mouth to the place where the skin vanished under cloth, and he wanted to push Jervis away because he knew, somewhere bone-deep, that this was going to end badly.

He was going to have some interesting notes about this new formula, if he ever came out of it.

After some time, which he’s incapable of marking in a real way, he becomes aware that Jervis has wrapped Jonathan’s fingers around the plastic water bottle and sat down beside him, arms resting on his knees and eyes fixed in the distance. It is another of the things they know about each other, that Jervis didn’t even attempt to put the bottle to Jonathan’s mouth himself; they both value the autonomy of their bodies to an obsessive, violent degree. Theirs to tend to, theirs to break. It’s a feeling only strengthened by their brushes with ‘care’ in Arkham. Jonathan manages to lift it, to unscrew the loosened cap and get a few swallows down. Jervis tilts his head a bit to the side, as if he’s listening to him.

“You’re still here,” Jonathan observes. His head is spinning a little less. The world is still hostile. Jervis is probably not a hallucination, but he’d have to touch him to be sure. The thought sends a shudder through his body. “Aren’t you?”

“In body,” Jervis says, which is a Jervis enough thing to say that Jonathan feels a little more reassured. “I’ve been thinking.”

For him, that’s a complete statement, no further questions. Jonathan nods slowly, then says, “I should lie down.”

This is a lie. It’s possible it didn’t come out quite convincingly, judging by the sideways look Jervis gives him, but he said it aloud and that’s more than he thought himself capable of. He screws the bottle cap back on, very carefully, and manages to do it right. “If you could,” he says, not looking at Jervis. “Help. Just a bit.”

Jervis inclines his head. “Of course.”

He is real and solid under Jonathan’s hands. That is good, but now Jonathan has to decide what to do about it. He feels quite certain he needs to decide something, and do it quickly. He’s not sure how much of that is the toxins working their way through his system, gleefully chewing on his brain cells, and how much of it is his rational mind being painfully aware that the effects won’t last forever, and if he doesn’t have a chemical excuse for certain things he might never do them. He sways on his feet, thinking.

“Dear God, Jonathan,” Jervis says, which means he’s really irritated; he only swears by God, that tired phantasm, when he forgets himself. He applies enough pressure that Jonathan stumbles backward, sits on the edge of the bed, and stands in front of him, his blue eyes scanning him up and down. “If you’re going to do something, do it.”

His hands are tight by his sides. Jonathan has obsessively studied the signs of fear for years, and knows what this is. It makes what comes next a little easier. He reaches out and hooks two fingers into Jervis’ collar, tugs him closer.

“It helps.” The hardest part of this, he thinks, might be simply saying the words. “It helps to touch someone.”

Jervis lets out a sigh; half relieved, half annoyed. “Of course.”

He takes Jonathan’s hands in both of his, running his thumbs over his palms. The touch does help; Jonathan closes his eyes for a moment, making himself breathe deeply, focusing on the sensation. Soaking up what he could. Then he leans forward and brushes his mouth against Jervis’.

Jervis is almost perfectly still. His breath flutters against Jonathan’s lips, and just before Jonathan pulls away he moves his lips, but not exactly as if returning the kiss; just like he was starting to say something to himself. Jonathan leaned back, surprised Jervis was still touching his hands, and looked at him.

Jervis blinked at him, then shook his head. “What?”

“I love you,” Jonathan said. It came out soft, like a breath. He didn’t even mean to say it. He wonders, hopefully, if he can blame it on the toxin. Jervis winces as if he’s been hit.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and sounds like he genuinely means it. Jonathan considers, then nods. Love has never been particularly kind to him.

“Thanks.”

Jervis nods again in response. He releases Jonathan’s hands and reaches instead to grip his arms just below the shoulders, and in the split second that Jonathan closes his eyes Jervis closes the distance between them. The kiss is messy, open, not really what Jonathan had considered (as he had, while telling himself he hadn’t) Jervis would kiss like. He’d thought of something more closemouthed, mechanical, a polite hunger. Jervis licks his mouth open, grins into the kiss when Jonathan grunts in surprise. He takes the force Jonathan gives him and doubles it, gives it back. He holds onto Jonathan’s shoulders so tightly Jonathan feels like he’s bruising, hopes he is, that he’ll have physical evidence of this.

Jervis finally breaks it, and says something against Jonathan’s lips. He can’t process it. “What?”

Jervis laughs, quiet and low in his throat. “I said, I should let you lie down.” He pulls back, eyes searching Jonathan’s face. Jonathan can’t tell for what. “And I do have a project to attend to.” He seems to catch on to Jonathan’s worry. “But I’ll check in on you later.”

Whatever it was they had, it hadn’t been destroyed. Jonathan was finally able to breathe. “Right.” The world was looking a little more stable already; he could guess the effects would last an hour or two more. Maybe he can fake them for longer.

Jervis turns away, pauses in the doorway. “That thing you said to me earlier.”

“What, the…”

“No, earlier.”

“That you were still…?”

“Right after I came in.”

Jonathan frowned. “Fuck you?”

“That’s the one. That—” Jervis looked him up and down, a glance that made Jonathan feel scorched, “I think, should wait until you’re sober enough to ask me seriously. But I’d like to consider it.”

Some more of Jonathan’s brain cells stopped working. This time, it was only partially due to the toxin.

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt 'a gentle 'i love you' after a soft kiss, followed by a stronger one'. Which was an interesting one to play with considering Jonathan 'I'll keep all my emotions under lock and key and then one day, I'll die' Crane and Jervis 'aro as hell' Tetch.


End file.
